


The Intermediate In-between

by Joules Mer (joulesmer)



Series: Sacra Familiae [4]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:28:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25863610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joulesmer/pseuds/Joules%20Mer
Summary: After lunch, Phil covered Puri’s rounds before blatantly lingering around HQ in case some news came in.His comm stayed silent.The usual gossip channels hummed with questions, but no answers.
Relationships: Philip Boyce/Christopher Pike
Series: Sacra Familiae [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1797217
Comments: 55
Kudos: 107





	1. Chapter 1

******************************

Chris sank into his couch with a sigh that bordered on a groan. 

Phil passed him a beer, raising an eyebrow at the uncharacteristic expression on the other man’s face— almost defeat; and as if every year of his age were weighing on him more than it ever did. Sometimes Phil had to remind himself they weren’t in their thirties anymore. Or forties, for that matter.

Raising his bottle in a toast, Chris took a sip, then announced, “He’s taking the test again.”

There was only one test that was _the_ test. Phil took a gulp of his own beer to mask his surprise before he replied, “I thought no one goes back for seconds, let alone thirds.”

Chris grunted something that passed for an affirmative reply, tilting his face towards the ceiling and bringing up one hand to cover his eyes.

Phil slid a hand along the back of the couch until he could bury his fingers in greying locks, gently massaging. A moment, then some of the tension seemed to bleed from Chris’ frame and he slumped further into the cushions.

Shifting his fingers to a spot that always made Chris hum with appreciation, Phil asked, “You going to watch?”

“I’ll be in the observation deck with Spock.” Chris opened an eye and glanced sideways, “He’s commandeered McCoy as a helmsman.”

“No wonder he looked like someone had pissed in his cornflakes this morning.” Chris snorted, always amused when Phil’s language loosened up. “McCoy’s working on his aviophobia, but heaven help anyone who reminds him he might _actually wind up in space_.”

That drew a real chuckle out of Chris, although it was still slightly strained, “He does know Starfleet operates in space?”

“It’s been mentioned.” Phil curled up one side of his mouth in a half-smile. “Repeatedly.”

Sliding sideways, Chris dislodged Phil’s hand, only to settle with his head nestled on the other man’s shoulder as he asked, “Stay over?”

Phil loved this about them— that they could still curl around each other like it was over twenty years ago. He hummed as if he was actually considering it. “I could be persuaded— if you make eggs for breakfast.”

Chris smiled. Phil was such a sucker for his omelettes. Sinking further into the other man’s side, he yawned and asked, “You got a fresh uniform here, or do you need to press this one overnight?”

“Mmmm, I think I’ve got one in the closet.” He usually did, anyway. Phil kicked out his feet and relaxed into the cushions, content to just sit for a while.

******************************

Phil was contemplating a wilting salad when his comm chirped the following day; a late lunch that was already disappointing. Setting down his fork, he flipped open the device only to be greeted by Chris sounding slightly harried, “He beat it.”

He? Who? “What?”

“He beat the goddamn test.”

Phil blinked, regarding the comm in surprise for a moment, before he replied, “I thought that was impossible.”

“I thought so too.” Someone said something indistinct in the background and Chris lowered his voice to add, “I think it’s going to be a late night. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” they’d planned to have dinner, but there was no sense trying if Chris was likely to get stuck on campus. “No worries— good luck.”

Chris grunted. “I think I might need it.”

******************************

Shifting in his seat, Phil would have been lying if he claimed the squabbling over medical waste disposal had his full attention all morning. Discreetly stifling a yawn, he flipped to the next page on his padd just to see how many were left.

Everyone else seemed similarly glazed over, even as they tried to pay attention. Phil had slept well enough alone, but hadn’t heard anything from Chris since the day before aside from a generic _Good morning— comm you later about dinner._

The treaty was agreed in terms of all the important points: vaccines, medical supplies, coordination between three species and UFP oversight. Of all the things, who would be tasked with hauling away the medical waste proved to be surprisingly contentious. 

Finally, they managed to reach an agreement and as the hand-shaking and back-slapping wrapped up Phil’s thoughts turned to Chris and whatever the hell had happened with the Kobayashi Maru. Unmuting his comm, a series of messages from an hour ago popped up in quick succession:

_Distress call from Vulcan— we’re heading out._  
_I called but your yeoman says you’re stuck in the Laurentian relief negotiations_  
_I’ve grabbed Puri_  
_Wish you were here_  
_If we’re gone for a while remind me to message Kirk. He’s in the shit; we’re leaving him on Earth_

There was a soft chorus of chimes as the other Starfleet personnel unmuted their comms as well. 

“Phil?” Admiral Miller, the lead negotiator, appeared at his elbow and appeared to be frowning at his own comm. “You see this? Any idea what’s going on?”

Shaking his head, Phil re-read his messages and shrugged, “Chris just said he’s answering a distress call.”

“Vulcan though? That’s a surprise— them getting caught off guard by something.” 

Miller was visibly unsettled and his anxiety rubbed off on Phil as well. One last glance at his comm and he asserted, “I’d better get over to Medical.”

******************************

Medical HQ was oddly empty. Phil poked his head into office after office only to find yeomen who confirmed that, yes, their senior officer had shipped out with the relief effort. It seemed like every ship that had been in Earth orbit had responded to the distress call. Eventually, he found himself in a small knot of senior medical officers clustered outside the Surgeon General’s office.

The woman herself eventually poked her head out into the corridor and gently ordered them back to work with a warm, but firm, “We don’t know anything. I’ll let you know when we do. Please hold down the fort until then.”

So Phil went back to work. Sitting in his office with his comm balanced on the desk, he consulted on the plans for a tricky spinal surgery on the Tellarite ambassador. 

Then ate lunch— a mediocre lasagna from the canteen. It was hard to ignore how half-empty the place seemed to be, even though Phil knew that they couldn’t have shipped out _that many_ people relative to the total size of the Earthside medical staff. It was the familiar faces that were missing— senior medical staff he’d come to know over the years, those who rotated through shipboard postings rather than staying dirtside.

After lunch, Phil covered Puri’s rounds, before blatantly lingering around HQ in case some news came in.

His comm stayed silent.

The usual gossip channels hummed with questions, but no answers.

As dusk started to settle over the city he went back to his apartment— it was close to campus and Medical HQ in case they called-up more personnel. Re-reading Chris’ message, Phil contemplated calling Kirk, but decided best to wait a little longer. At least until he heard from Chris directly. Who knew what the kid had done.

The somewhat sterile lines of the apartment didn’t usually bother him, but the uncertainty of the situation made him wish for a more homey touch. Phil tapped his fingers on the brushed durasteel surface of his desk and resigned himself to waiting for news.

A ring at the door and Commander Xian’re stuck her head into his foyer with a, “Yo— Phil? You here?” 

“Yeah— what’s up?”

Xian’re was a willowy redhead who’d grown up on Risa, and also one of the best cardiothoracic surgeons in the ‘Fleet. She’d probably been elbows deep in someone’s chest cavity when the distress call came in. “Wasn’t sure if they called you up today. A bunch of the other medical left-behinds are going to grab a beer. You in?”

The promise of a distraction and the thought that _somebody_ might have heard _something_ was enough to set him in motion. It was mostly senior officers— surgeons, researchers, and specialists within a couple rank grades of Phil himself. Some of them had family off-planet, or were only temporarily dirtside. Everyone was just as clueless as Phil himself.

Eventually, the conversation turned to the usual fare of doctors hanging out— medical research and other topics that left their waiter with a vaguely nauseated look on his face as he passed too close to their table.

In bed around midnight, limbs lax with just a shade too much alcohol, Phil re-read this messages from Chris again:

_Distress call from Vulcan— we’re heading out._  
_I called but your yeoman says you’re stuck in the Laurentian relief negotiations_  
_I’ve grabbed Puri_  
_Wish you were here_  
_If we’re gone for a while remind me to message Kirk. He’s in the shit; we’re leaving him on Earth_


	2. Chapter 2

Late in the morning, on the cusp of afternoon, the whistle that preceded a ‘Fleet broadcast made him jump. “Attention Starfleet Personnel.” It was the somber tones of the Commander-in-Chief. Phil straightened in his chair and turned towards the intercom in his console. “At 0903 yesterday morning Starfleet Command received a distress call from the Vulcan High Command reporting an unspecified natural disaster. A fleet of ten vessels was dispatched to provide aid: the USS Antares, Armstrong, Enterprise, Farragut, Hood, Mayflower, Newton, Odyssey, Truman, and Wolcott. Communication and sensor contact was lost shortly after our vessels arrived in Vulcan space, and the planet Vulcan itself now appears to have been destroyed. The Enterprise has been detected on long-range scans, however, we have been unable to regain communications and believe the vessel may be damaged...” 

A rumble began to thrum through the building, as if it was experiencing the same visceral horror that threatened to consume Phil.

“...We will continue to update you on the situation as more information becomes available.”

The rumble grew and somewhere under his shock Phil sensed the vague danger of _earthquake_ that permeated life in San Francisco, even with their best seismic technology.

“Phil!” Larissa leaned into his office, white as a sheet and trembling as she exclaimed, “Look at the Bay!”

Spinning in his chair, Phil’s mouth dropped open and it took him a moment to gasp, “What the fuck?” It was like a ribbon of fire, slicing through the clouds and into the water. Lurching out of his seat, he stumbled to the glass and repeated, “What the fuck is that?”

“I don’t know!”

The nurse sounded almost hysterical, so Phil tore his gaze away from the window and ordered, “Get back on the computer and see what the chatter is. _Stay here_ until they tell us where we’re needed or an evac order is issued.” Following his own advice, Phil spun his console so he could see the screen and the bay at the same time. There was nothing from the official command channels and the unofficial discussion groups were just expressions of shock and confusion.

As Phil watched, a small ship swooped down, glinting in the sunlight as it fired on something in the upper atmosphere. The beam of fire abruptly cut out and a big black mass snaked down to land in the ocean near the bridge. 

Releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Phil turned back to his console and waited for something. _Anything._ Fifteen minutes later, a message flashed across the screen marked for officers ranked captain and above. It wasn’t particularly informative: _An unidentified vessel violated Earth’s defenses and was able to direct some form of energy beam into the ocean near San Francisco. A smaller vessel of unknown origin appeared to launch from within the larger ship and attack the source of the energy beam. While the larger vessel returned fire, the warp signature of the USS Enterprise was briefly picked up in the vicinity of Saturn before all three vessels went to warp. We are unable to verify their location at present._

Something leapt into Phil’s throat at those words, _USS Enterprise_. Fumbling for his comm, he opened a new message to Chris and sent, _I heard about Vulcan. I hope you’re okay_.

He waited five, ten, fifteen minutes. No reply. He dimly wished he’d tacked on, _love you_ , even knowing it might go to a yeoman or comms officer rather than Chris himself.

Telling himself Chris was busy, Phil put the device in his pocket and carefully smoothed down the front of his uniform. Taking a breath, he walked out into the corridor and headed back towards the Surgeon General’s Office. Sure enough, there was a congregation of senior officers in the conference room. 

Some were crying, others pored over padds that didn’t contain any updates, others gripped comms with knuckles as white as Phil’s.

_The Antares, Armstrong, Farragut, Hood, Mayflower, Newton, Odyssey, Truman, and Wolcott_. There was an entire graduating class of cadets on those ships. Captains. Commanders. Lieutenants. Ensigns… their friends— catching sight of Admiral Anderson, Phil mentally added, their families. His wife _and_ son served on the Mayflower.

Phil’s chest throbbed with a visceral, primal fear for _Chris_.

An arm wrapped around his shoulders and Phil dimly recognized it was Mark Lenard— his wife was a commander on the Kepler, currently in the Laurentian System. No less stunned than the others, but with the knowledge that Yvonne, at least, was alive. “Easy, Phil. Just breathe.” Was he holding his breath again? It would explain the ache in his chest. Inhaling sharply through his nose brought unexpected relief. “That’s it.”

Mark was an old friend of Chris’— they’d been in a flight squadron together as cadets and kept in touch over the years. With anyone else Phil might have been embarrassed, but he’d doctored up Mark and Chris after enough scrapes over the years that weakness wasn’t anything new between them. Taking a breath that gave an alarming hitch, Phil tried to follow the other man’s instructions.

It took longer than it should have, but eventually Phil managed to gather himself and meet Mark’s concerned gaze.

“You back with us?”

Phil nodded, voice unsteady as he replied, “Yeah.”

Mark’s expression darkened and he gripped Phil’s shoulder just a little too hard as he asked, “Have you heard anything?”

“No,” realizing Mark had assumed the worst, Phil hurried to explain, “No, no, I haven’t heard anything from Chris since they shipped out yesterday.”

“Okay—” Mark seemed to be on the verge of an emotional breakdown himself. “That’s good.” Glancing around the room and seeming to see the crowd for the first time. “You want to come back to my place?”

Shaking his head, Phil swallowed hard, “I want to stay close in case they announce anything else.”

Correctly assuming that once Phil got a plan in mind it was unlikely to change, Mark clapped a hand on the other man’s shoulder one last time and asserted, “I’ll get you a coffee.”

Three hours later, Phil was regretting staying. The conversation just swirled around and around the same points:

_Is it really true?_   
_You think they’d announce something like that if they weren’t absolutely sure?_   
_But nine ships? Vulcan? It’s not possible!_   
_Did you see that thing in the Bay? Do you think that’s what happened to Vulcan?_

He lasted another hour before it was too much. The other voices were grating, only magnifying his own anxiety. Mark was distracted with another colleague so Phil took his chance and slipped out of the room. It was late afternoon and there was a hush over the academy grounds, little knots of people clustered near doorways didn’t pay any mind as he hurried by. 

Without purpose, Phil just walked. 

He walked through dinnertime, until his feet ached inside his boots and he’d passed through neighborhoods he didn’t recognize. A glance at him comm confirmed the last messages with Chris were still:

_Distress call from Vulcan— we’re heading out._   
_I called but your yeoman says you’re stuck in the Laurentian relief negotiations_   
_I’ve grabbed Puri_   
_Wish you were here_   
_If we’re gone for a while remind me to message Kirk. He’s in the shit; we’re leaving him on Earth_

_I heard about Vulcan. I hope you’re okay_.

A taxi-flitter glided by and he stuck his arm out without thinking, clambering in the back seat and blurting out Chris’ address.

Phil didn’t let himself into the house, but sat in the backyard overlooking the ocean. The sun set and the sky darkened. Earth spacedock glowed like a low star overhead, diminished without a fleet of ships.

Opening the comm again, he added one last line:

_Love you. Be safe._


	3. Chapter 3

Phil woke up alone the next morning, and for fifteen wonderful seconds he didn’t remember why that felt so wrong.

His comm log was empty, except for a message from Mark asking if he was okay. Ignoring the imperative, _comm me_ , Phil pulled on his captain’s uniform rather than his medical blues. Numbly, he combed his hair and made his way to ‘fleet headquarters and joined the senior officers milling around the CNC conference rooms. Someone thrust a cup of coffee into his hands, but otherwise they left him alone.

It was a long morning— almost eleven by the time the building’s comm finally whistled. They all turned to the intercom like flowers following the sun.

“ _Attention all command personnel: At 0700 this morning the USS Enterprise was detected by a remote long-range sensor array.” A muted rush of excitement coursed through the room as the announcement continued, “There was no warp signature or comms traffic, but the ship was moving at impulse towards the nearest Starfleet outpost, over eight days away at that speed. The USS Lovell was dispatched from the Laurentian System and found the Enterprise under the command of Acting Captain James Tiberius Kirk. The ship was damaged, having jettisoned and destroyed their warp core to escape an artificial singularity, but suffered minimal casualties. Captain Kirk confirmed that the single ship observed lowering a drilling device on the San Francisco Bay was solely responsible for the destruction of Vulcan, our fleet, and the USS Kelvin. The Enterprise crew disabled the drill, lured the hostile ship away from Earth, and destroyed it. The Lovell is preparing to tow the Enterprise to Earth. We will provide more information as it becomes available._ ”

Phil’s personal comm chirped and he glanced down quickly to see a message from the ‘fleet Chief of Staff’s office flash across the screen: _He’s alive_.

It was hard to breathe for a moment, as a wave of relief crashed into a second wave of dread that _alive_ wasn’t saying much.

His comm chirped again with a follow-up message: _Stay put_. Phil couldn’t have moved if he’d wanted to.

“Boyce!” Admiral Roth leaned out of his office and waved, beckoning him into the CoS’s inner sanctum. Discarding his third tepid cup of coffee, Phil crossed the carpet on feet he didn’t quite feel touching the ground. 

The fleet admiral made Phil sit before settling on an opposite sofa; a low table between them.

Phil had only been in the office once before— when he was promoted to captain after the Denovian plague relief mission. He’d barely noticed the surroundings then, being utterly exhausted from tackling a pandemic, and didn’t take them in any more this time.

Roth spread his hands in a gesture that was almost supplication, and offered, “We don’t know everything, but I know a little more.”

Hoarsely, Phil repeated the words he’d needed to hear since this whole mess unfolded. “Chris is alive?”

“He is.”

Something wobbled, alarmingly, in his chest, as if his heart had come unmoored. Phil gave a little nod that was all he could do to convey, _get on with it then_.

“The alien vessel that lowered that thing into Earth’s atmosphere was commanded by a renegade Romulan called Nero. It was also responsible for the attack on Vulcan, and the Kelvin over twenty years ago. The Enterprise launched several minutes later than the rest of the fleet and arrived at Vulcan after our ships had been destroyed. The Romulans initially fired on the Enterprise as well, but something made them stop. When they hailed, they somehow identified Commander Spock by name.” Roth paused, as if choosing his words carefully, then continued, “Nero invited Chris onto his ship to negotiate.”

“He gave himself up?” A terrible thought occurred to Phil, an almost visceral _no no no_ of alarm bells sounding in his head, “Like Robau?”

“Like Robau,” Roth held up a forestalling hand and hurried to explain, “except he used his shuttle to send an infiltration team to disable the Romulan’s subspace jamming system.”

It was something, at least. Phil’s heart ached because Chris _knew_ that choice— he’d dissected it time and time again in his dissertation. He knew just how few seconds Robau had lasted before his life was ended on that Romulan ship. Afraid of the answer, he forced himself to ask, “And Chris?”

“They tortured him— for Earth’s defense codes.” Roth’s forehead creased with stress or worry, and he hastened to add, “We have a report from a Doctor Leonard McCoy that indicated Chris was conscious when Kirk and Spock initially retrieved him from Nero’s ship, but he was immediately taken into surgery.”

_McCoy?_ Phil swallowed, and softly questioned, “Not Puri?” Roth’s expression said enough in reply. “And Jim’s in command?”

Roth’s face twitched as if he had to briefly fight to suppress an emotion. “I’m not sure of all the details, but Kirk is in command.”

That took a moment to digest, because so far as Phil understood, Jim wasn’t even supposed to be on the ship.

A moment was all Roth seemed able to give him, as the admiral leaned forward to catch Phil’s attention before he said, “I have a sprinter at spacedock standing by to depart. McCoy requested some specialist medical supplies and the Lovell wants another structural engineer to assist with the tow. If you want to go, you have to go _now_.”

He didn’t even have to think. “I want to go— I’m ready.”

Roth took him at face value because it only took a few words into the comm and Phil found himself materializing in a Hermes class vessel preparing for departure. 

The ship was crammed with personnel and supplies; Phil shouldered his way past some medical personnel he vaguely recognized and folded himself into a jumpseat in the rear passenger compartment. Wishing belatedly he’d thought to at least grab a padd, he pulled out his comm and re-read his messages again.

_Distress call from Vulcan— we’re heading out._   
_I called but your yeoman says you’re stuck in the Laurentian relief negotiations_   
_I’ve grabbed Puri_   
_Wish you were here_   
_If we’re gone for a while remind me to message Kirk. He’s in the shit; we’re leaving him on Earth_

_I heard about Vulcan. I hope you’re okay_.

_Love you. Be safe._

******************************

Ten hours folded into a jumpseat was enough time for Phil to go through stages of shock, denial, pain, guilt, anger, and bargaining three times over. Five hours into the journey a comm arrived with a slightly more detailed report than Roth had provided before— enough to know that Kirk and Spock had personally infiltrated the Romulan vessel to steal a ship and retrieve Chris.

He was somewhere in the grey area between denial and pain when the Hikyaku gently docked with the Enterprise. While seniority would have let him off first, Phil hung back until the stream of personnel thinned out. He wasn’t sure what he was going to find; wasn’t sure how it would feel to step aboard one of Chris’ ships and not be met by the man in question.

Making his way through the airlock, he found Kirk and McCoy— exhausted, disheveled, and, in Kirk’s face, bruising mottled his throat and eye socket.

Jim made a noise of surprise as Phil swept him into a tight hug with a heartfelt, “Thank you.” A moment, and then Jim’s arms came up and encircled Phil in return as the older man whispered, “You brought him back.”

Jim mumbled something that wasn’t quite audible before relaxing into the embrace for a moment, as if gaining comfort from it as well. 

Releasing the younger man, Phil pulled back to find McCoy— Leonard— hovering a few feet away. The pensive expression on his face made something clench in Phil’s stomach all over again. 

Leonard spoke before Phil could ask a question, interjecting with a low tone, “Let me take you to him— he’s in the med bay.” The words weren’t particularly reassuring, but the hand on his shoulder was. 

They made their way through corridors choked with repair crews and personnel that looked distinctly frayed around the edges, even with the Lovell’s engineering team. Phil barely saw it, following a path to the med bay that his feet knew from Chris poring over blueprints for the last three years. 

He was dimly aware of Jim at one shoulder and Leonard at the other as the doors hissed open and the cacophony of the corridor gave way to the flat scent of scrubbed air and muted beeps of monitoring panels. The nursing staff seemed to be watching out of their peripheral vision as he crossed the med bay, unerringly making his way to the private critical care area at the back.

_Chris_.

Stretched out on a biobed under a stark white blanket. Asleep or unconscious, it wasn’t clear. His skin looked grey. Moving closer, Phil could see lines of pain etched on the other man’s forehead and around his mouth. 

Someone must have washed Chris’ hair with the portable sonics— it was curling limply against his forehead. Brushing it back with his palm, Phil felt the heat of a slight fever, even with the pallor.

Leonard cleared his throat and with one soft phrase fractured Phil’s world just a little more, “It was a Centaurian slug.”

Jim hovered in the background, not even attempting to hide that he was eavesdropping.

Phil spared a moment to press a kiss to Chris’ forehead, audience be damned, before he managed to ask, “Did it reproduce?”

“I did a complete filtration of his cerebrospinal fluid. There was one larval cluster in the right sacral plexus which I removed, but it had reached a level of maturity where it was excreting toxins.” Leonard’s eyes softened with remorse. “I got it out as quickly as I could, but I don’t yet know the extent of the plexopathy.”

“Will he be able to walk?” It was Jim— voice hoarse and eyebrows drawing together. “He was able to stand when I beamed us back.”

Leonard’s mouth twitched in a way that confirmed _able to stand_ was something of an optimistic exaggeration. “I don’t know, Jim. They’ve brought some next generation grafting supplies— it’s experimental, but I’ve worked with it before.” Leonard’s gaze slid back to Phil in a way that conveyed the issue with that.

“Do it.” Phil didn’t have to think twice. Chris lived and breathed to be on the bridge of a starship— he _needed_ to walk. From a captain’s perspective, the risk would be worth it. 

From Phil’s perspective— he just wanted Chris back in whatever shape he could have him. The selfish urge to say _no_ , please, no, and just bundle Chris into his arms and take him home before anything else could harm him was almost unbearable. The compassion and understanding in Leonard’s eyes was hard for Phil to accept.

Leonard just nodded and replied, “It’ll take me an hour to get everything prepped, then I’ll scrub in. I’ve already been in there and mapped it all out, so the procedure should only take about forty-five minutes.” _Already been in there_ was enough euphemism for Phil to picture the surgeries that had already taken place. 

Someone called from the main area and Leonard excused himself— presumably getting things set-up.

Phil took the opportunity to sink into the visitor’s chair next to the bed and gently gather a lax hand in his own. Rubbing his thumb over a familiar callous on Chris’ finger, he sensed nervous, exhausted energy hovering in the background. Without looking up, he softly said, “Sit down, Jim.” He probably should have called the kid Kirk, or maybe even _captain_ , but years of hearing about him from Chris meant informality came easily. There was the scrape of a second chair being drawn up and Jim sat down heavily. “I heard you were in the shit before this all kicked off.”

Jim jerked in surprise, cheeks pinking slightly.

Keeping a gentle hold of Chris' hand, Phil twisted to look up at Jim as he asked, “Chris was worried about you. What happened?”

If anything, Jim’s cheeks flushed further in an emotion that was hard to read until he eventually mumbled something indistinct. Phil raised an eyebrow and it prompted the kid to clear his throat and repeat, “I cheated on the ‘Maru.”

Aghast, Phil could only repeat, “You _cheated_ on the Kobayashi Maru?” When Jim gave a little nod, he blurted out, “What the Hell were you thinking?”

Jim seemed to rally then, a spark in his eyes as he retorted, “The _test_ is a cheat— it’s unwinnable.” 

“The test is about fear, and making choices under pressure.”

“Well I don’t believe in no-win scenarios.”

Glancing from Jim’s defiant expression to Chris’ lax face, Phil sighed and admitted, “I’m glad you don’t.” Realizing he was gripping Chris’ fingers too tightly, he relaxed his hand and implored, “Please tell me your cheating was at least so obviously about making a point they can’t accuse you of _actually_ trying to cheat.”

Remembering the apple, Jim’s shoulders dipped in a shrug that hinted he might have left them a clue or two. Thank the heavens for small mercies.

“How did you even get here? Chris said they left you behind.”

Jim shifted in the chair, guiltily, “Bones—” Clearing his throat looked like it hurt, but he did it anyway to be able to explain, “It wasn’t planned. They were leaving me behind, but Bones, he came back for me. Gave me a vaccine— mud fleas? I think…”

Oh sweet baby Tellarites. Leonard was in the shit as well, he just didn’t know it yet. Tuning out Jim’s faltering explanation, Phil told himself to think: WWCD— What would Chris do? The one thing about medical track was that people tended to underestimate it, despite it being no less well connected than command. Which meant he could set things in motion before the commandies knew what hit them. Raising a hand to pause Jim’s monologue, he said, “Get a padd from Leonard’s office. Once they take Chris into surgery we’re going to make ourselves useful.” 

Until then… Phil turned his attention back to Chris and leaned forwards to press a kiss to a faint scrape that marred his temple. Too small to regen amidst everything, but an injury nonetheless. Chris’ hair smelled of disinfectant, nothing like _Chris_ himself.

Phil buried his left hand in Chris’ greying curls and clasped a lax hand with his right. Twisting, he bent down so that his lips were brushing against the curve of the other man’s ear and whispered everything he’d wanted to say for the past two days.

An hour passed far too quickly and a nurse appeared with an apologetic smile to carefully wheel Chris away from them. Jim had been hovering the background the whole time, alternating between tapping the padd against his knuckles and compulsively fiddling with it— checking reports or signing-off on requests, no doubt. A captain was never truly off-duty in the tail-end of a crisis. 

Taking a moment to gather himself, Phil spun his chair and held a hand out for the padd, “Alright. Not everyone at HQ believes outcomes, no matter how beneficial, trump rule-breaking so let’s get the jump on the damage control before too many people start asking questions about how you got here. It was a Melvaran mud flea vaccine? Headache, nausea, vision loss, flop sweat?” When Jim nodded, Phil ran through a mental catalogue of symptomatology. “Fortunately, those aren’t the most specific symptoms in the universe. Does anyone else know?”

“No— he just announced that he was my attending physician and he was bringing me on board for treatment.”

“Then let’s keep it that way, if we can.” The bruising on the kid’s face made him look like the aftermath of so many other rough missions that Phil could recall over the years. He remembered one time Chris had taken a brow-beating from the brass for taking an unexpected degree of initiative brokering a critical peace-treaty. Three martinis into de-stressing in Phil’s quarters, Chris had thrown out a hand and lamented, “That’s ‘Fleet politics: you save a world, but it doesn’t mean everyone likes you for it.”

It would take some doing, but the right words in the right ears could help smooth things over.

******************************

Forty-five minutes was just long enough to get the full story from Jim and carefully craft five messages for certain sympathetic ears in the admiralty. They’d just finished an additional note for Una on the Yorktown when footsteps preceded a postsurgical hover gurney being pushed back into the private area where they were sitting.

Greedily running his gaze over the displays, Phil felt something go weak inside him with relief. Alive; vitals strong enough, under the circumstances. Leonard followed, moving to stand in front of Phil and Jim and block their view of the monitors. 

The doctor’s back was bowed with the strain of too many hours standing in an operating theater over the last days. Hazel eyes glanced over both of them, before he announced, “It went as well as it could.”

The assertion covered a lot of ground. Phil glanced sideways— from the look on Jim’s face, the younger man knew it as well.

Sensing neither of them were going to settle for anything less than a real explanation, Leonard continued, “The grafts went in cleanly. It’ll be at least twelve hours before we can confirm that they’re taking, and then the rejection window is about four days. He’ll probably be out through the night. I’ll have them bring a cot in for you, Phil.” The assumption that Phil would want to stay went without saying.

Leonard himself looked dead on his feet as well, but he passed a clinical eye over the other men and declared, “You look like shit, Jim.”

He did, too. The marks under his eyes had only darkened in the last two hours until the skin looked bruised there as well. “Yeah, well,” Jim scrubbed a hand through the hair at the nape of his neck and managed something approximating a smile, “Quarters for stowaways leave a lot to be desired.”

The obvious solution came to Phil without a thought: “Use Chris’ cabin.” The uncertainty that crossed Jim’s face was so obvious it made something tender tug in Phil’s chest and he insisted, “He’d want you to. Trust me.”

Jim looked like he wanted a moment alone, but settled for brushing his knuckles against Chris’ shoulder before excusing himself with a nod. Leonard fussed with the monitors for a few minutes before excusing himself as a corpsman brought Phil’s cot, presumably going to pass out in the CMO’s office.

Alone with Chris, Phil dragged the cot until it was just inches from the biobed— as if they were sharing a bed and Vulcan was still a thriving planet and the Enterprise was still waiting to launch with fanfare and Chris at the helm and Phil standing on the bridge beside him. Settling on his side so he could see the profile of Chris’ forehead, nose and lips, Phil reached out with a hand and gently slipped his fingers around the pulse-point in the other man’s wrist. 

There had been too many nights like this over the years— where Phil sought the reassurance of Chris’ heartbeat. It was deceptively easy to relax like this, knowing Chris was _here_ and _alive_. The real time was still to be measured out: twelve hours, four days, then weeks of recovery before they’d know, for sure, if he was going to walk onto the bridge of a starship ever again. 

Phil let himself doze for a while, surfacing every now and then, but attention always focused on Chris.

What Leonard couldn’t have known was that Chris sometimes had a tendency to need a little more midazolam than the average man of his weight. Sure enough, sometime after 0300 there was a little hitch in Chris’ breathing. 

Greedily, Phil wanted this moment all to himself— instead of pressing the call button to summon McCoy or another doctor, he settled closer and waited as a familiar wrinkle creased the other man’s forehead. Another minute, and Chris’ eyelashes fluttered before a sliver of blue appeared. In that moment, Phil thought it must be the most beautiful color he’d ever seen.

A complex expression crossed Chris’ face, then in a voice that croaked he softly managed, “From the look on your face I’ve either done something incredible brave or incredibly dumb.”

Wetly, Phil gently replied, “I guess saving the world can count as both.” He had to blink hard to clear moisture from his eyes, not wanting to lose sight of Chris for a moment.

“Didn’t think saving the world meant feeling quite so shitty.” Sensing Phil about to ask if he was in pain, Chris managed to weakly shake his head and explain, “I’m pretty sure the biobed isn’t actually rocking right now— if I’ve got enough drugs in me to feel like I’m floating, I must be avoiding a world of hurt.”

Not wanting to explain, Phil reached out and gently smoothed the pad of his index finger over a line of stress on Chris’ forehead. “Leonard’s looking after you— just relax and go back to sleep. We’ll talk more in the morning.”

Not quite entirely in the present, Chris frowned and mumbled, “Doesn’t feel like my quarters.”

“I should hope not— I sent Jim to sleep in them.” Phil’s grin was sheer relief as much as humor as he teased, “Don’t want you trading up for a younger captain to warm your bed,”

“Jim,” Chris’ forehead creased with confusion or a memory before he asserted, “He came back for me.”

Shifting to cup the line of Chris’ jaw in a warm palm, Phil confirmed, “He did.”

“Shouldn’t’ve told him to— risky.”

“Shhhhhh.” Trying to quell the hint of distress on Chris’ face, Phil moved closer and pressed a quick kiss above one eyebrow before replying, “I think he was going to come back for you either way.” The truth of that seemed to land, as the tension that had been building in Chris’ frame seemed to evaporate. Another kiss, and Phil gently ordered, “Go back to sleep.”

“Hmmmm,” Chris hummed an affirmative, eyes already slipping shut as he asked, Stay?”

“I’ll be right here.” As Chris’ breathing evened out in sleep, Phil added to himself, _Always._


	4. Chapter 4

Chris was sprawled out on his stomach in the bedroom— finally able to test his range of motion without worry for the grafts. He was still sleeping more often than not, but the heavy drugs intended to keep him relatively immobile and pain-free were finally out of his system. 

Ignoring the wheelchair in the corner, Phil knelt on the edge of the bed and pressed kisses to the curve of Chris’ spine.

It took a minute, but eventually Chris turned his head and his eyelashes fluttered. “Hmmm, that’s nice.” Waking further, he asked, “What time is it?”

“Eleven— time for your meds.” Chris reflexively offered his neck and Phil gently depressed the hypo before following it with a kiss. Instead of a flinch at the bite of the hypo, Chris just yawned. “Go back to sleep. I’ll get some lunch ready in an hour.”

“M’okay.” Chris’ breathing evened out and he was asleep again in a moment.

Smiling to himself, Phil padded into the kitchen and started looking through the cupboards. Most of them had been stocked recently, but painkillers always killed Chris’ appetite unless you really knew what to make. 

Phil’s padd chirped with an incoming videotransmission and he dropped a can of soup to answer. It was Mark, and the fact that he was wearing his admiral’s braids hinted that it wasn’t a social call.

“Hi Phil,” There were lines of exhaustion on the other man’s face as he asked, “is Chris there?”

“He’s asleep. Did you want to talk to him, or—?”

Mark frowned and confirmed Phil’s suspicions as he softly replied, “It’s ‘or,’ I’m afraid.” Visibly taking a breath before he continued, “He’s going to be promoted to Admiral— I’m sorry.” It was a hell of a thing to say about someone’s promotion, but in this case they knew exactly what Mark was saying. The promotion reflected just what the brass felt about Chris’ likelihood of recovery. They probably already had a desk set up for him in HQ. “There’s going to be an assumption of command ceremony.”

“Are you serious?” The question just burst out of Phil. An _assumption of command_ ceremony— where Chris would have to formally hand over his ship. A worse thought came to Phil and his eyes narrowed as he asked, “When?”

“Next week.”

“Next _week_? He’s barely been out of intensive care for three days! How can you expect him to attend a relief ceremony?”

“In a wheelchair, preferably.”

From Mark, the sardonic comment had its intended effect and Phil shot past his initial outrage and into grim acceptance as he muttered, “Hell.”

“Exactly.” Mark shook his head in apology and disgust. “I tried to argue, but they’re pretty set. I think they want something purportedly positive to trot in front of the cameras after everything that’s happened.

“Who’s she going to?” Because that’s the crux of the issue as well. If Una, well, Chris would be hard-pressed to begrudge her such a success but she was unlikely to be moved from the Yorktown...

“Kirk.”

“ _Jim,_ ” Phil felt his jaw go slack with surprise. “They’re giving Jim the Enterprise? He’s fresh out of the academy— he’s only been in Starfleet for three years!”

Mark ignored Phil’s comment— he’d probably said as much already himself. “You want to tell Chris, or should I?”

Resigned, Phil scrubbed a hand through his hair and replied, “Kirk’s going to need him. Now more than ever— for fucks sake.” How the admiralty could think this was a good idea was beyond him, but there wasn’t anything to do but make it somehow be okay.

“I think they talked themselves into it being some full-circle mentorship bullshit.”

“It is,” Phil frowned, “But that doesn’t mean it’s entirely a _nice_ thing for Chris.” Mulling over the options and deciding nothing about the situation could be bettered, he stated, “If you call him in an hour it’ll be time for him to get up anyway. I’ll be ready to talk to him after.”

“Good luck.” Mark swept his gaze over Phil and added, “Comm me if I can help with anything.”

Phil nodded. He’d need a little luck.

******************************

An hour and fifteen minutes later, Phil gently knocked on the bedroom door before shouldering it open and offering a soft, “I come bearing gifts.”

From the set of Chris’ back it was clear Mark had told him everything— his body formed a hostile wall as he lay on his side facing away from the door.

Phil set the tray with the freshly-baked bread pudding on the nightstand and the warm aroma of bourbon and spice curled around the room. 

Chris didn’t acknowledge him, or his favorite dessert, so Phil just sat down on his side of the bed and waited. 

Eventually, Chris softly said, “They don’t think I’m fit for anything more than a desk.”

“They’re wrong.”

“They’ll have you ship out without me.”

“Only the Enterprise and the Yorktown could justify taking a captain as CMO— Una doesn’t need a new one and while I’ve come to like the kid I am not chasing Jim Kirk around the quadrant with a roll of bandages and a hypo.” Phil settled a warm hand on Chris’ shoulder. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Jim’s set on taking Leonard out there with him.”

A full minute of silence as Chris contemplated that, then in the same dismal tone as before: “They’ve lost a lot of medical personnel— they might make you lead missions off-planet again.”

Phil took it as an invitation to rub his thumb back and forth along the top of Chris’ clavicle as he asserted, “As much as I like curing plagues and running relief missions, I’ll push back on anything long-term. They owe me at least that much choice.”

“I’m not—” A pause, then words that were barely audible, “I’m not ready to stop flying.”

“So don’t.” Phil hitched further up on the bed so he could sit with his back against the headboard and Chris’ back pressed against the side of his thigh. 

“You say that as if I have a fucking choice in being grounded.” Bitterness finally bled into Chris’ tone, sharp and angry.

“I’m not going to lie and tell you it’s going to be easy, but the grafts are looking good, really good, and if you’re willing to work your ass off we’ll get you back on your feet.”

When Chris eventually spoke again the anger was gone, swallowed up by something that had a deeper edge of sorrow. “I’m not going to be able to surf again.”

Phil felt a tug of loss deep in his chest, because the ocean was the _one place_ he’d ever seen Chris as happy as on the bridge of a starship. “Probably not— not like you used to.”

“I’m glad you agreed.” A moment where Phil didn’t dare reply, then Chris continued, “It makes me think you just might be right about walking. And flying.” Chris finally, painfully, struggled over onto his back so he could look up at Phil as he said, “I have to hand her over to Jim.”

“I know.”

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?’

Phil shifted so he could run a hand through Chris’ hair. It was a familiar gesture that always conveyed calm as he asked, “Do you remember the night you recruited him?” The huff of breath in response confirmed that the event was hard to forget. “Remember the day after— in the diner? We’d left Jim and Leonard to the tender mercies of Starfleet intake processing despite neither of them being entirely sober.” Phil gently finger-combed greying curls. “We got his records— realized he was walking into Starfleet with the weight of a murdered colony on one shoulder and a dead father on the other.”

Chris’ mouth curled up ever so slightly as he recalled, “We rigged the system— got him rooming across from McCoy.”

“He’s going to need you,” another brush of Phil’s fingers, “now more than ever.”

Chris swallowed, eyes darkening as he admitted, “I don’t know if I can do it, Phil. _My ship_...” The Enterprise was everything Chris had worked towards with single-minded determination since he hit _send_ on a carefully crafted and much-debated letter to Stanford decades before.

Phil slid down the bed until he was propped on one elbow with a hand curled around the side of Chris’ face, gently grounding the other man as he asserted, “You can.”

Chris took a long, shaky breath, then softly said, “He saved my life.”

“He did.” 

“I thought I was dead— I didn’t see how they could ever get me back from that ship. Once Nero got what he wanted, I expected him to discard me.” Chris licked his lips and admitted, “At first, I didn’t think Jim was real; just a hallucination. When he actually _touched_ me I asked him what he was doing on that ship. You know what he said?” When Phil gave a little shake of his head, Chris replied, “He said he was ‘just following orders’.”

Phil exhaled a gust of breath and softly exclaimed, “Jim Kirk— just following orders.” Perhaps one of the greater miracles of the whole debacle, “That is a first.” He gave Chris a few moments of silence to sit with it all, then said, “We should invite them over—coffee tomorrow, maybe. I’m sure they’re wondering how you’re getting on. Leonard and I can talk shop while you and Jim have a word.”

Chris shifted uneasily on the mattress. “I don’t want—”

When the rest of the sentence didn’t follow, Phil hazarded a guess, “People to see you like this? Jim and Leonard have already seen you a hell of a lot worse, even if you don’t remember much of it. Besides, you’d be nuts if you think you’ll be able to keep Una away once the Yorktown gets in next week.” Phil leaned down and pressed a kiss to the corner of Chris’ mouth. “But I’ll make sure we get you sitting up and out of the bedroom.”

******************************

Phil didn’t just get Chris out of the bedroom the next day, he managed to get him settled in a comfortable chair on the deck before Jim and Leonard arrived; the wheelchair hidden out of sight. The doorbell rang _precisely_ on time. Pressing a beer into Jim’s hands, it was late enough in the afternoon, he pointed the young man towards the sliding glass doors and gave Leonard a significant head tilt towards the living room.

Half an hour later, Jim reappeared. The pensive expression that had been on his face when Phil answered the door seemed to have disappeared. Leonard picked up on it as well, as the other doctor visibility relaxed and got up from the couch to ask, “Time to go?”

“Yeah,” Jim’s voice was a complex mix of relief and lingering concern. “He’s, uh, getting a little tired, but we had a good visit. Really good.” Turning his attention to Phil, he offered a soft but heartfelt, “Thanks.” As if he suspected who was the initial architect of the visit.

“No problem,” Gently ushering them towards the door as he tried to mask the desire to check on Chris, Phil waved them out with a warm, “We’ll see you soon. Comm if the brass try to give you any grief.”

******************************

_”I am relieved”_.

From his place in the second row, Phil could see that it was a real smile on Chris’ face.

Thank heavens.

A little frayed around the edges— with something secret dancing in his eyes that wasn’t entirely about the point of the ceremony.

But a real smile nonetheless.

Phil let himself breathe again, loosening the grip on the edge of his seat. 

They were going to be fine. All of them.


End file.
